It bothered him.

Nen'tah looked down at the red feather sticking out from his ruff, brow furrowed as he studied the object for answers it could not provide. He supposed he could ask Iglux̂ , but somehow he hadn't managed to bring it up. Ever since the conclusion of the pups' first expedition and accompanying quests, it became apparent that feathers were somehow deeply important and seen as tokens of achievement within the clan.

Why, Father himself sported one just like his!

So why had Nen'tah alone been in possession of such a feather since infancy? Did it mark him as special? Unique?

... Or, and this was a truly terrible thought, did his parents think him physically and mentally handicapped, utterly incapable of earning his own?

He almost didn't want to ask.

Instead he set himself to task, nose to the ground as he followed the scent-trail of a nearby rabbit. He did not yet possess the full size and strength of his adult body, only just now beginning the journey of adolescence, but he could still practice on smaller prey and hone his tracking. Whatever the others thought of him, he would be worthy of the crimson feather he already bore. He would make it so.

The trail led into a deep burrow nestled beneath an enormous oak, heavy hanging branches draped with Spanish moss that swayed gently in the warm evening breeze. The sun had gone down and the sky had lost its light, but he knew enough that rabbits often left for quick excursions to graze in the small hours of dusk and dawn.

Nen'tah concealed himself nearby, a shadow within shadow, his silhouette casting no shade upon the ground - a reward he had been gifted by Ice Raven himself for calling back the sun when the earth had neared its end.

He barely even remembered that day now.

The boy waited patiently.

It would come.